


beneath the winter snow

by pocoloki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad Vitya On A Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocoloki/pseuds/pocoloki
Summary: "On days like today, his apartment is too quiet. Big and empty and quiet and cold, the smallest sound amplifies and carries, becomes deafening. Every tick of the clock on his wall, every click of Makkachin’s nails on the hardwood. The silence is oppressive, overwhelming, and it drives him out here.The beach is big and empty too, and far colder than the apartment. But it’s just the right amount of quiet, especially now, with everything muted by a layer of freshly-fallen snow."Some days are harder than others. On a particularly cold evening, Victor slips out to the beach for some time to think.





	beneath the winter snow

**Author's Note:**

> So the Ice Adolescence poster got me feeling some emotions and this just... sort of... happened. 
> 
> Title from "Winter Song" by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles, a fantastic song I listened to on repeat while writing this. 
> 
> Special thanks to the absolutely wonderful [borntomakelifeandlove](https://borntomakelifeandlove.tumblr.com/), who very kindly beta'd this for me when I was in crisis mode and thinking of deleting the whole thing, as well as the [We Write Victuuri](https://wewritevictuuri.tumblr.com/) discord squad for always being so lovely and supportive!

On days like today, the sounds of the rink are too much.

The constant scrape of blades on ice, the echoes of skaters chattering, the hum of the heaters, the drill of Yakov’s voice, the rumble of the Zamboni as it washes the ice, clean and smooth, clean and smooth, before the scrape of the blades mars it once more. 

On days like today, his apartment is too quiet. Big and empty and quiet and cold, the smallest sound amplifies and carries, becomes deafening. Every tick of the clock on his wall, every click of Makkachin’s nails on the hardwood. The silence is oppressive, overwhelming, too much to handle, and drives him out here. 

The beach is big and empty too, and far colder than the apartment. But it’s just the right amount of quiet, especially now, with everything muted by a layer of freshly-fallen snow. 

Everything except the wind, that is, the ever-present wind blowing across the frozen lake. Its hollow whistle is a constant here, its song echoing across the ice, a desperate voice calling in the distance. It rustles the bare, leafless trees on the islands across the bay and they creak, knock into each other, adding rattling percussion to the wind’s empty melody. 

The wind picks up light, powdery snow off the surface of the ice and swirls it around in the breeze, forming an ethereal vortex that leaps off the ice, dancing and twirling across the slick surface before the wind changes and it falls, once more indistinguishable and unremarkable in the vast, empty white expanse. 

Makkachin likes to chase the blowing snow on days like this, but he hasn’t brought her with him today. It’s too cold for her to be out too long, even with her thick, curly coat. It’s technically too cold for Victor to be out, too, especially having forgotten his hat, but his scarf is wrapped snugly around him and his heavy coat keeps him warm enough.  

Keeps out the biting cold of the wind on his skin, but not the deeper cold underneath, in his bones, his lungs, his heart.Not the cold that drove him out here in the first place, that always drives him out here on days like today. 

The wind picks up more powder off the lake and he watches, transfixed, as it drifts. It’s so graceful, like an angel, like something not of this earth. He reaches a hand out in front of him, palm flat, fingers outstretched, as if he can catch it in this moment, transformed by the wind into something beautiful, before the wind changes its mind and leaves it abandoned and ordinary once more. 

These moments of beauty are so fleeting, he thinks, and then sighs, pausing for a moment to watch his breath puff out in a thick, white cloud as he exhales, and then rise and dissipate, blown about by the wind. 

The bay stretches out before him, frozen and buried under a smooth layer of snow. It blends with the white winter sky, looking like it goes on forever beyond the two small islands. He wonders how thick the ice is. If he could bring his skates one day, step out onto its surface. How far out could he skate, he wonders. What would he find there. 

He exhales again and his white breath blends with the barren scene before him. 

The freshly fallen snow before him looks so perfect. Unblemished. He wants to take a step forward, to test the thickness of the ice, to see how far out he could go, if he ever tried, but he just can’t bring himself to ruin something so beautiful. 

So he looks out instead, to the empty bay, to the white on white on white on white. The ice, the snow, the sky, his breath. It blends together in a stark, colourless mass. Surrounds him. He’s cold, but he doesn’t shiver. The wind whistles, calls out over the ice. He drifts. The white, the cold, the wind. Nothing more. 

Then a new sound. Rougher, louder than the wind. Familiar. 

Barking. Makkachin, barking. 

She runs past him with a joyful bark, bounding excitedly into the expanse of smooth, perfect snow and rolling around in it, her tail wagging furiously. 

Victor blinks. What is she doing here? He definitely left her at home. She really shouldn’t be out too long in these temperatures.  

Confusion and cold root him to the spot as he watches his dog stand and shake, sending little bits of snow that had stuck to her fur flying everywhere. He thinks some of the snow might have hit him in the face, but it’s so numb from the cold there’s really no telling. 

Before he can stop her, she takes off running further down the beach, tail wagging madly as she plows into snowdrifts. Before Victor can open his mouth to call her back, there is a new sensation. An arm around his wrist. Tugging on his sleeve. Warm.

He doesn’t need to turn and look to know who it is, but he does anyways. 

Yuuri. His Yuuri. Colour, amidst the whiteness. Midnight-blue coat, cheeks pink from the stinging cold, eyes warm and brown. Warmth, and colour. He didn’t realize until now how much he’s missed both. 

Those eyes are filled with worry as they look up at him. 

“Vitya, what are you doing out here?” 

He tries to make himself smile for Yuuri. He hopes he’s succeeded. He can’t really feel his face enough to tell for sure. “I was just… thinking.” 

Apparently his smile wasn’t convincing, because Yuuri’s brow furrows. “You left three hours ago.” 

“…I did?” 

His smile may not have been entirely genuine, but his surprise is. Has he really been out here that long without noticing? He supposes he very well could have been. The sky is so cloudy and white that it’s nearly impossible to mark the passage of time, and it’s easy for him to lose track of it on days like today. 

If anything, Yuuri looks even more worried now. He uses his teeth to take off a glove, and presses the back of his hand against Victor’s cheek. The touch is so warm he melts into it. 

“Vitya, you’re freezing.” 

“I’m fine.” His mouth forms the words on its own, like a reflex. Yuuri is clearly not convinced. It’s harder to slip these things by him, these days. That thought scares him a little, though he knows it shouldn’t, but it also eases the chill in his bones. 

“Come home, Vitya.” It’s not an order, nor is it a plea. It’s an invitation, just like the arms that open up, reaching out to him, offering comfort and blessed, blessed warmth. 

_Come home_. Silly Yuuri, doesn’t he know? Those arms _are_ home. 

He steps into Yuuri’s embrace without a word, and Yuuri pulls him in close. Victor sinks into the warmth with a shudder, melting into Yuuri as he holds him and presses kisses into the side of his face. His lips feel like fire against Victor’s frozen skin, thawing it, thawing all of him right down to the core, to the deep, aching, ever-present cold in his chest. 

Warmth. Colour. Love. _Yuuri._

_Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri_. 

More heat on his face. Tears dripping down. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Yuuri’s arms tighten around him, pulling him even closer, and Victor buries his face in his shoulder.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not even sure what he’s apologizing for. For leaving for so long, perhaps. For making Yuuri worry. For having days like today in the first place. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri.” 

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says. “It’s alright, Vitya. I know. I know.” 

Victor sniffles, nods, and then stifles another sob into Yuuri’s scarf because it’s true. Yuuri _does_ know, understands better than anyone what it’s like to have days like this. Yuuri knows, and Yuuri loves him, and Yuuri came all the way out here to find him, all the way out to this beach, to this remote, isolated place that has been Victor’s solace and his prison for twelve years’ worth of days like this, and _god, what did he ever do to deserve this man?_  

Yuuri stands there and holds him as the two are buffeted by the chilly, whistling wind, rubbing his back, kissing his frozen face, whispering soothing words in his ear until his tears slow and finally stop.  

“How did you find me?” Victor asks when he finally finds his voice again, pulling back just enough to look Yuuri in the eye. 

“Yakov told me you used to come out here sometimes, to think.”

“Oh.” That makes sense, he supposes. Though he can’t remember his coach having ever actually come out here, he did keep tabs on him as a teenager, to make sure he stayed out of too much trouble. He’d spent so much time here in his youth, it’s only natural that Yakov would know about it. 

“I can see why you like it out here,” Yuuri continues, turning back to look out over the endless white expanse. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

Victor nods. 

“Lonely, though,” he adds, so softly that he thinks his voice might have been drowned out by the wind.

That is, until an arm wraps around his waist, pulling him even closer as Yuuri leans his head against his shoulder.  

“It doesn’t have to be. Not anymore.” 

Warmth blooms in his chest at Yuuri’s words, and he feels tears stinging his eyes again as he looks once more out to the bay. 

How many times has he stood in this spot? How many years has he spent here, looking out at the empty sea, the empty sky, felt the emptiness inside himself, the cold. How is it that it all suddenly feels so different with Yuuri here beside him? 

What would his sixteen-year-old self think, he wonders, if he could see him now? Standing here in the same place he’d stood alone, looking out to the sea, wondering if it was all worth it, now in the arms of the love of his life. 

He thinks it would give his sixteen-year-old self some badly-needed hope. Hope that things could, in fact, get better. That the crushing loneliness wouldn't last forever. That there was joy and warmth and life and love yet to come, a spring to follow all the cold, lonely winters he’d spent here.

The thought warms his heart even more, and he holds Yuuri closer. They stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, watching the windblown snow dance across the frozen lake, until a particularly strong gust of frigid air makes them both shiver. 

“Come on, Vitya,” Yuuri says gently, repressing another shiver as he takes his husband's frigid hand. “You’ve been out here too long. Let's go home and get you warmed up, okay?” 

Victor almost smiles at that. Yuuri's mere presence here has already done so much more to warm him up than he knows. But he's right. Victor has been out here far too long, he’s cold and drained and exhausted, and the apartment won’t be so unbearably quiet if Yuuri is there with him.  

He finds he’s too tired to speak, but he nods and squeezes Yuuri’s hand, allowing himself to be lead back to the car, Makkachin bouncing along at his heels. Yuuri bundles him into the car, left parked haphazardly on the side of the empty road in his haste to find Victor, and turns the heatup as high as it will go.  

He drives the whole way home with one hand on the steering wheel. The other hand holds Victor’s, fingers interlaced, shifting position every so often to run his thumb over the cool gold band on Victor’s right hand.

_____________

 

The cold never really leaves him, not entirely, and especially not on days like today. It always lingers in some form or another, and it will always be back eventually. But back at their apartment, after Yuuri has bundled Victor into his coziest sweater and pulled him onto the couch to cuddle, it’s a shadow of what it was back on the beach. 

Curled up in Yuuri’s lap like this, with his husband’s hand carding gently through his hair, he can barely even feel the cold anymore. Yuuri’s warmth and love surround him, enfold him, and he wonders, not for the first time, how he ever got this lucky. 

“I love you so much.” The words slip, unbidden, from Victor’s lips before he even realizes what he’s saying, as if they had escaped directly from his overflowing heart. 

They seem to catch Yuuri by surprise as well. His hand pauses in Victor’s hair and a soft, lovestruck smile spreads across his face. He’s so beautiful like this, a blush creeping over his cheeks, brown eyes molten and sparkling as he looks down at his husband with something like awe. 

Victor could stare back at him forever, _would_ stare back at him forever, but then Yuuri leans down to kiss his forehead and his eyes flutter closed. 

“I love you too.” Yuuri whispers into his skin, voice trembling with a reverence that sets Victor’s heart aglow. 

He snuggles deeper into Yuuri’s lap, his eyes still closed. Days like today always drain him, and he’s barely awake as it is. He could easily fall asleep like this, in Yuuri’s arms, with Makkachin curled contentedly at their feet, Yuuri running his fingers through his hair. He’s about to do just that when Yuuri’s hand in his hair stills once more, and he speaks. 

“Victor”? He asks quietly, as if worried that Victor has already drifted off to sleep. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mmm?”

“The next time you go out there…. Would you bring me with you?? I’d like to see it on a warmer day.” 

Victor imagines it, just for a moment. They could return in a few months’ time, once the bay has thawed and the sea sparkles its deep, rich blue again. They could bring Yurio with them, maybe, and a picnic basket. They could sit on the sand and watch Makkachin play in the waves as they roll in, just like they had in Hasetsu. Replace all the melancholy memories of that lonely frozen place with warmth and life and love and family. 

_It doesn’t have to be lonely. Not anymore._

Victor smiles, holding that image in his heart as he snuggles in to his husband’s warm chest. “I’d like that too, Yuuri. I'd like that a lot.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr at [sweet-vitya](http://sweet-vitya.tumblr.com/)


End file.
